


From the sidelines

by RussianWitch



Series: We are not in Stockholm yet [2]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: M/M, No Idea Where This Came From, POV Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 08:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the sidelines it's difficult to judge what's going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the sidelines

**Author's Note:**

> Now beta'd by Ailuromamcy whom everyone needs to thank for not having to twitch at my creative use of grammar.

Barsad liked music when he was little.  
He remembers being able to listen to it for hours on end. When he got caught up in it he would get up and allow his body to be led by the rhythm and cadence.

Sometimes the neighbors or his father's friends noticed and stopped to watch, sometimes complete strangers stopped to watch too. He had liked the attention with a child's innocence; he had even been happy when a stranger came to talk to his father and offer to pay for actual dancing lessons.

Barsad remembers not understanding why his father became angry or why his mother and sisters cried. He did love the lessons at first and the attention the stranger paid him, until the time to pay came and he was taken to the rich man's house, dressed in clothes better suited for a girl and made to dance for the man and his friends. The dancing was not bad but what came after is still veiled by a red haze in Barsad's mind even now.

He had only understood why his mother was so sad when he had seen the other boys who sat with the men invited to the feast. They had all been pretty and dressed in fine clothing but their eyes had been empty. The next day his eyes had been empty as well.

The next several years he barely remembers, except for the sparse memories of his parents and sisters there are long stretches of red. He is strong and smart and he heals fast: all of these ensure he stays a favorite of the rich man who keeps him. He does not go to school when other boys his age do, his younger brother teaches him to read bit by bit, the only lessons he is allowed to take are in dance. By the time he is fourteen he hates dancing with all his being and music is nothing but another sort of noise.

By fifteen he is almost too old; having to shave and starve himself to keep looking younger than he is, but Barsad is smart and he can take a lot of damage which keeps him the rich man's favorite where someone else would have been replaced at his age. He has seen those creatures; their families do not want them any more unwilling to stand the shame, they have no skills, and no money, and so often they end up playthings of the troops before ending up dead. Barsad does not want to end up that way too but he does not get a lot of say in what happens in his life.

The change comes when strangers appear in the rich man's house. They come in the middle of the night bringing death with them. He wakes from troubled sleep in the sweaty embrace of the rich man to see the bed surrounded by men with guns, a strange creature standing at the foot of it. Barsad does not scream, but he does try to scramble away from the man who has kept him all these years, to make himself small and escape the attention of the strange creature. The lights flair, the rich man wakes up with a curse and Barsad realizes that the strange creature just might be a man in a strange mask who is studying him closer than Barsad would like. The rich man starts to rant and rave and is silenced with a backhand by one of the men with guns. The masked man closes in on Barsad who tries to get away but is easily caught. The man's large hand can almost close around Barsad's throat and he has no doubt that he can easily be killed by it. So he stands and tries not to shake too much in the grip as he is studies by curious eyes.

"You still have fire little one. Would you let your fire burn bright?"

The voice, deep and booming, is gentle in asking the question while the grip is merciless.

"I don’t know how."

He does not really understand what he is being asked but there is a part of him that will say anything, do anything, agree to anything to get out of the trap that has become his life. The hand on his throat shifts cups his chin and forces him to look the masked man right in the eyes. Long moments after Barsad thinks he will never see anything but the masked man's eyes ever again he is released. The masked man reaches back to one of his men accepting something Barsad cannot see until it is presented to him.

He is given a gun; it is big and dull, black, heavy in his hands when he accepts it. The masked man nudges him to turn towards the rich man who is his owner, helping Barsad to bring up the gun until it's pointed at the quivering belly of the rich man.

"We can teach you how. But you must take the first step, you: the innocent defiled, extract your vengeance."

The rich man tries to speak again but is silenced by the application of a rifle-butt to his face. Barsad thinks about the masked man's words, whoever the men are they want to teach him, they want him to learn, to survive. Most importantly they do not look like they want him to dance. The trigger is slippery under his finger and far harder to squeeze than he expects but Barsad does manage and the red flower blooming on the rich man's belly is beautiful, as beautiful as music once was, so he pulls the trigger again and then again.

He is hustled out of the bedroom before the rich man dies; someone finds him a shirt and pants actually meant for a boy or a man. Barsad stays at the masked man's side as they leave the house and get in to a car. He wonders why he does not feel the urge to say goodbye to his family as he watches the nocturnal landscape speed by, than realizes that he has said his goodbyes a long time ago.

He feels free for the first time in years, his fingers caressing the instrument of his freedom which is still in his lap. In the years to come there are harsh lessons and bigger guns but he keeps carrying the first one, lovingly taking care of it and never letting it out of his sight.

By the time his training with the League is completed the masked man, whom he now knows as Bane, has long since left with the leader's daughter, disappearing in to the world. Once it is possible, he does not hesitate to follow, tracking them with all the skills he has acquired until he finally finds Bane and is able to join the man's band of brothers. After all Bane gave him a new life, it is only fair that Barsad spends it protecting Bane's own, and how better then as his second in command?

Barsad rarely disagrees with Bane's choices, he does not question, only does what is necessary because it has been asked. He would even willingly lay down his life as long as the request came from Bane himself, but he cannot condone the police officer's presence. John Blake is not a child and is not an innocent when he comes in to Bane's grasp but he is still a man who should not be used as a toy. The detective fights his capture like a wild man, trying to escape several times and is dragged back by Bane every time. Barsad sees the bruises and unwillingly remembers bruises of his own, all the while trying to convince himself that Bane is not like the men who held power over Barsad when he was young. He can hear them when the camp is at rest, but muffled by distance or walls it's hard to tell the sounds of pleasure from the sounds of pain.

He watches and he worries through several countries and a dozen jobs, always waiting to be proven either right or wrong.

Enlightenment comes unexpectedly when he is asked to mind the prisoner as they are packing up the warehouses they have been using as housing for the last job. Bane has gone to collect payment and Barsad is responsible for watching the cop in the man's absence. 

Barsad finds Blake sprawled naked on the rickety bed a stunned expression on his face and fingers absent-mindedly tracing fresh bruises on his thigh. When startled out of his thoughts Blake blushes for the first time despite having been caught naked before and scrambles to get dressed before assisting Barsad with packing up the medical supplies still strewn around the bed. Everything fits snugly in one crate for transport, even the knife Blake hands Barsad like he had not attempted to steal one a few weeks ago. They are loading the crate into one of the cars when Bane comes back and Blake starts blushing even harder and doing everything possible to avoid looking in Bane's direction. 

Worried, Barsad does look; Bane does not seem different than usual, if only in a slightly better mood.  
The big man locks up the money received and sheds his coat to assist with the breaking up of the camp.

That's when Barsad sees it: just where neck meets left shoulder Bane has a fresh wound.  
The injury, as minor as it is, has not been caused by a bullet, knife, or other implement Barsad is familiar with and does not seem to concern Bane.  
He looks from his leader to their prisoner, who is still acting like putting crates in one of the trucks is the most fascinating job in the world, looks closer at the wound and indulges in a rare action.  
Barsad laughs; he leans against the car and laughs until he cannot catch his breath any longer.  
Bane comes over frowning down at him but every time Barsad looks up at his leader he sees the wound and starts to laugh again.  
Somewhere out of sight Blake growls something probably rude Barsad does not catch, which draws Bane's attention away from his second in command.  
He watches his leader go over to the prisoner and the way Blake leans in to Bane's touch just for a moment before sharply pulling away and feels a weight fall off his heart.


End file.
